Thaw (My Heart in Spring)
by felmarge.go
Summary: "Let love simply bloom . . . and it is unstoppable." - Pope Francis (Normal/Skating AU)
1. London! For the First Time

London was strange, he supposed. A different strange than Moscow.

"Strange" in that, somehow, it managed to be both modern and archaic, blending together the two elements well, as well the sunset sky would fuse tangerine and gold.

As much as he would like to venture and see more of all the places his career permitted him to travel to, Yuri didn't really have that much time on his hands.

All of it went to perfecting his skills.

But, there was nothing wrong about it. At least for him. If it meant snagging the top spot for himself, then he was willing to sacrifice all of his precious time.

"Hmm, so the Final is going to be held here—for the first time," he muttered to himself, his mint green eyes busy with the headline his phone was flashing: **GPF in London For The Very First Time!**

Then it disappeared, replaced by a caller screen: Otabek was calling him.

He tapped the answer button. "What is it?"

 _Oi, Yuri. Where are you now?_

"I'm here already, in London. Why?"

There was coughing on the other end, then: _I mean, where are you exactly, in London?_

At Otabek's inquiry, he fell silent and his mind went blank, as if stupefied. Now that he thought long and hard about it . . . he had been blindly walking inside the city with little attention to his location. _Stupid._

He quickly glanced around him, seeking for a good indicator as to where he was—

And he stopped, his gaze falling onto the London Eye.

Then he replied, "I am here, near the London Eye. And I mean _very near._ Now, why?"

 _. . . Stay there. My sister will be there to pick you up,_ his rich voice buzzed through his phone. _I can't go there myself right now._ _Something came up._ And before Yuri could say more, the call had been dropped.

He expelled a sharp sigh, his thin brows knitting in confusion. _His sister?_ His best friend had a sister?

He left the thought at that; it wasn't any of his business, anyway.

To pass time, he decided to take a few shots of the vicinity, and the famous attraction itself. Then he posted it on his Instagram, tagging it _#london, #london eye,_ and _#gpf._ Seconds later, likes were pouring in, followed suit by a few comments:

 _ **OMG ur in london!**_

 _ **you should see the thames river!**_

 _ **Man you're so lucky**_

He put the gadget away, disinterested. He raised his arms above him and stretched, all the while yawning. _This is going to be a long wait._

"Hey!" Was it just him, or was somebody calling him? He tuned his ears and waited.

There it was again—"Hey! Yuri!" And he heard his name, too.

Yuri directed his eyes forward, eyes shifting spot to spot, searching wherever the cries could have come from, until it settled on a figure who seemed to be . . . running towards him? But who—

"Oh, crap, a fan!" His face morphed into an expression of utter horror. Memories of his fangirls, Yuri's Angels—or so they were called—came flooding back. So did all of the endless pursuits, squealing and screaming, hiding behind dumpsters . . .

Taking hold of his luggage's handle, his feet came to life and carried him in a adrenaline-packed dash, away from whom he assumed to be his pursuer.

He heard the same cry again. "Hey! Yuri!" The Russian sprinted even faster.

Yuri raced past tourists and locals alike, bumping into some in the process—and receiving curses in return. Those that were fortunate, however, were swift enough to evade the escaping kid.

Yuri dared a glance behind him. His pursuer was nowhere to be found among the crowd.

He came to an abrupt halt, and nearly stumbled from the sudden loss of momentum. Perspiration dripped down his head, from his sweaty hair to his scarlet cheeks. _Looks like I lost them._

He released the breath he didn't know he had been holding, effectively steadying his racing heart.

Just as he was about to move again, tight hands wrapped around his hand with vise-like grip, startling him greatly and triggering his defensive reflex. His arm jerked out, striking whoever was holding him captive.

"Ow!" he heard the captor cry, followed suit by an audible thud. Yuri took the chance to fully catch a glimpse of the person.

It was a girl.

The revelation rendered him unable to move and breathe properly.

His grandfather had always told him to never strike a girl, unless his intent was to defend himself. Yet here he was, with a girl writhing at his feet in pain, courtesy of him.

Without thinking he lowered himself to her level and assisted her in picking up all of what had fallen. A sepia-colored handbag and a pair of black, thick-rimmed spectacles, both lying ungracefully on the gray pavement. His disposition uncharacteristically sheepish, he asked her, "Are—are you . . . alright?"

The girl below didn't answer him immediately. Her hands were busily soothing her nose, where he assumed she had taken the worst of his hit. He waited, a mixture of guilt and and shame welling up in his stomach. Seconds later, she gingerly rose to her feet and let her hands drop to her sides, revealing her still-intact face. He emitted a relieved noise under his breath, thankful that he hadn't injured someone.

"Bloody hell, you have a strong hit," he heard her speak soon after. He stayed silent, not knowing what to make of her statement. Despite his forced silence, his rigid lack of motion and the kicked puppy look on his face made his discomfort glaringly obvious.

"Hey." She flashed him an assuring smile. "I'm fine—see?" She motioned for him to look at her again.

He adamantly refused, still shamefaced. And remembering that his hands were still holding her bag and her glasses, he promptly handed them to her. He grabbed the bags he had been neglecting that whole time and made a motion to leave, abandoning the stranger who stared after him with a dropped jaw.

"H-hey!" she hollered after him, not caring if she caught attention. "Hey, Yuri!"

Upon hearing his name did Yuri cease moving, with a gasp escaping his throat. Seeing the effect it had given, the girl continued. "You're supposed to come with me, you know. I'm Otabek's sister, the one who's supposed to pick you up!"

He twisted around to face her once more, surprise written all over his features. He came closer to her, his pace swift, but quickening by the second.

"You—you're her?" was all the came out of his mouth upon reaching her.

She nodded. "Aye," she responded, then gave him a look a wondering look. "He didn't show you what I look like?"

"No."

The girl scratched her head and sighed sharply. "That's what I thought. He's always been quite forgetful." She gave him an apologetic look. "Anyways, let's go. We're nearing noon, you know." She gently brushed past him, intent to lead him the way, but stopped abruptly as if she had forgotten something. "Oh, cripes!"

Yuri stopped as well. He raised a fine blond brow. "What?"

The stranger faced him, skin scarlet with embarrassment. "How silly of me, I forgot to introduce myself!" she said, before extending a hand out to him. "My name is Vitanya Clarke, but you can call me 'Nana.' I do figure skating, too."


	2. Make Yourself At Home?

_Vitanya Clarke, huh?_ He had been sneaking careful glances at her for the past few minutes, scrutinizing her up and down now that he was able to get a closer look at her appearance. He found her wavy hair peculiar—cream white at the top, vibrant cerulean at the bottom, and messily styled into childish-looking pigtails. Sitting atop her nose was her spectacles, black and thick-rimmed with large lenses. Her outfit consisted of a salmon cashmere sweater, a black and white tartan skirt, and a pair of white cotton tights with strange markings all over it. Overall, her look screamed both _geeky_ and _nerd._

However, she looked _nothing_ like what he would expect a sibling of Otabek would look like.

Nana had a much lighter, pinkish complexion—an obvious Caucasian trait—possessed neither his fawn-colored irises, nor his raven black hair. Her appearance came to be a stark contrast to his.

Dissipating the thought, his seafoam eyes wandered over to the window displaying the outside world. Seconds ticked by. Rain started pouring from the hovering gray sky of England, pelting the glass with tiny, crystal droplets. He leaned back in his seat . . . sinking down, bit by bit, yawning . . . his eyes blurry and drowsy. The humming of the car did not help matters, either.

Moments later, he was out like a light.

* * *

He came to a darkened room.

He pulled the covers over him and comfortably rolled to his side, eyes groggy yet with sleep.

His eyes widened, snapping from his stupor. _Covers?_

The Russian shot up, from the bed _he didn't even know he had been sleeping in the whole time. In an unfamiliar room._ Where was he?

He peered into the dimness of the room, trying to get his bearings. The last thing he could recall was . . . tracing the raindrops, inside Nana's car. And then—nothing. Blank.

 _Growl,_ his stomach rumbled, signifying its empty state.

Driven by his famished state, he set a foot on the floor—which, he just realized, was devoid of his footwear—then another. He was up and headed for the door, not even bothering to look for his shoes.

* * *

The second he set foot outside the room, light spilled into his eyesight, prompting him to squint and cover his eyes.. As soon as he was able to recover, his vision was welcomed by a monotonous series of black, white, brown, and gray: from the walls, from the furnishings, from the ceiling. Wafting into his nose was the mild, sweet aroma of jasmine.

Walking down the hall of rooms, he found a set of twisted stairs, inviting him to descend.

* * *

Downstairs was a spacious parlor.

She was lounging on the recliner, within the confines of the parlor of her residence, a novel seated on her blanketed lap and headphones on her head. It was one of her after-lunch routines: reading the books of her favorite novel series _Red Queen,_ all written by Victoria Aveyard. Every ounce of her focus was concentrated on the book, that she had failed to hear the descending sounds of footfalls.

The staircase led him to the same room. That was when he spotted her, a blonde head sticking out from behind the recliner's rest. He decided to approach her for assistance.

The feel of somebody tapping her shoulder brought Nana back to reality. She lifted her head up, twisted her body around, and said, "Yes?"

The Russian's question was short. "Where's the kitchen?"

"It's right there." Peering behind him, the British girl pointed a finger at an entrance. His eyes followed its direction, and he was able to spot it as well. He quickly made a beeline for the room and mumbled _"Spasibo"_ under his breath.

Before she could return to her reading, her skin sensed vibration from the inside of her pajama pocket. Sighing at the fact that she'd been interrupted twice, she slammed her book down on the glass coffee table and pulled her phone out of her pocket.

Calling her was her beloved brother. She tapped the green button and listened.

 _Nana. Where are you now?_ came the baritone voice of the Kazakh.

Nana gave the kitchen entrance a quick glance. "I'm home now. Yuri's with me," she answered, leaning back on the rest. That was when her voice inflected into a much lower one, and her face became more . . . serious. Glancing around to make sure nobody was listening, she carefully murmured into her device, "Where are you? How's Aunt Masha?"

The other line did not answer her instantly. From what she could make out of the noises from the other line, he seemed to be crying. Something he only did on the rarest occasions. Nana felt her peaceful, ecstatic mood drop.

The Brit was about to hang up and leave the uneasy conversation at that when Otabek cut in, in an uncharacteristically soft, yet somber voice. _She's . . ._ anam _is still unconscious. . . ._

Nana fell silent. An unbearable feeling settled in her chest, breaking the regular pattern of her breathing, and threatening to further break her composure, as well.

However, Otabek went on, determined to throw off the heavy sensation on his shoulders, the burden akin to carrying the weight of the world. _Nana . . . at this rate, I might not be able to join the competition._

"No!" That single word, so small yet so powerful, had escaped her lips before she could even stop herself. This time, it was Otabek that was silenced, rendered speechless by her expression.

Deciding to take it upstairs, she retreated to her room, feet harshly slamming on the polished, wooden slabs of the staircase. Completely unaware of the audience she had attracted: Yuri, who had been peeking from behind the kitchen wall, trying his best to eavesdrop. He could tell that the person she was talking to was none other than his best friend.

"What the hell . . . ," he muttered to himself, while munching on a sandwich. "I wonder what those two could be talking about."

* * *

By the time she had returned downstairs, it was already four-thirty; a full three hours had passed since the "conversation." Yuri, on the other hand, was focused on the television before him. Sight-wise, anyway—most of his attention was partitioned to mainly his ears. From his peripheral vision, he could see her take a seat on one of the couches, an unreadable expression on her face. Both of them sat there, not a word spilling from their mouths.

It took five minutes before his company, at last, spoke up. She uttered his name, swaying his attention from the screen to her. She opened her mouth again, and out came a question, a vaguely rhetorical one.

"Do . . . do you know why brother wasn't able . . . to pick you up?"

He faced her, suddenly interested.

Nana laid back, with her shoulders sagging and her face grim, and bluntly said, "Otabek's mother is sick. And because of that . . ." She paused, seemingly finding it difficult to relay what she wanted to tell Yuri.

The Russian arched a brow. "And . . . ?" he prompted. He could see her eyes moisten and glimmer with different emotions: pain, sadness, even fear.

"He might not be able to join the Grand Prix."


	3. A Friendly Challenge

The first thing Yuri saw was a twilight sky.

He had assumed himself to be the only one wide awake, in that time of the day, the wee hours of the morning.

No light, he observed, as he passed by a block of quaint-looking houses. That meant that everybody was still dead asleep—and that also meant no disturbances. Well, he certainly hoped so.

Well, his inference was proven inaccurate.

His left ear twitched upon hearing something within earshot: a crunching and crushing noise, the noise produced whenever shoes met concrete. There was only one explanation: Somebody else was awake—jogging right behind him.

He dared a backward glance.

Seafoam met indigo.

He couldn't help but choke on his spit when his eyes fell on her. Hair fixed in a simple ponytail instead of her usual pigtails, eyes donned with contacts, and clothed in a exercise outfit, Nana was also dressed for workout. Upon making eye contact with him, she flashed him a gregarious smile.

"Oh, good morning, Yuri!" Nana trilled in her airy voice. She zoomed forward until they were side by side. "Stealthy, aren't I?"

Yuri scoffed, letting the possibility of being chased by a rogue pursuer dissipate in his mind.

"What are you doing?" he asked, robotic and toneless.

He heard her huff once. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm exercising—like you."

". . . I meant why you are exercising with me."

"Oh!" she gasped, then gave a quiet, sheepish laugh under her breath. "I thought it'd be good to jog with someone else, you know. Inspiration purposes."

He cocked a brow at her last words. "'Inspiration purposes'?"

"Yeah. That's . . . kind of . . . how I work," she explained, pausing in between words to pant and gather air into her lungs. "Whenever I jog with someone else, it helps me to keep on going." She gave him a side glance. "You're a good inspiration," she added with an appreciative twinkle in her eye.

He scowled upon feeling his face heat up at her statement. He glanced away.

They fell into silence, with their running shoes the only ones producing sounds.

In no time, sweat had begun to coat their bodies. With every passing second, their limbs burned from all the effort they were exerting on their bodies. Being athletes who had gone through the worst of the worst, the sensation was fairly easy to ignore.

That was when Nana gasped, rather audibly, catching Yuri's attention. She looked as if she had been electric-shocked; her mouth was forming an O.

Despite his brain's insistence about the pointlessness of asking, he did so anyway. "What is it?"

She slowed down to a stop, and so did he. She began talking at once. "I have a great idea, Yuri. A _very fun_ one."

"And what is it?" He was admittedly—albeit slightly—curious.

Her smile only grew wider. "How about we have a race?"

Yuri had been ready to shoot down her idea, until it fully sank in his mind. He stopped and did a double take.

"A—race?"

"Yeah!" She raised her open hand. "You up for it?"

He craned his head, a tiny bit interested. "What's the catch?"

She stared off into space for a moment, then: "The loser has to treat the winner with their favorite food." Then she glanced at something faraway, several meters away from them, and explained, "The park there"—she pointed at a large evergreen tree in the distance—"will serve as the finish line."

He stared at her hand, contemplating about her offer. A race? He certainly liked challenges, one that involved outdoing another and showing them who's boss. Even better: The loser had to buy the winner their favorite food. A smirk stretched across his face.

"Deal," he answered, and proceeded to clasp hands with her—a sign of friendly challenge and sportsmanship. His hand met hers.

That was when she felt a sudden sensation, a minuscule shiver, course through her fingers, through her arm, then to her stomach.

Unbeknownst to her, Yuri had felt it, too.

Albeit falling into a brief moment of stupefaction, they both thought nothing of it; they went into position. The British girl was the first to count.

"On three! One."

"Two," he followed, squinting his eyes at her.

"Three!"

And then they took off, as fast as a rushing wind.

They were evenly tied during the first few meters, until Yuri started to gain the upper hand. He let out a triumphant laugh.

"Ha! Try and beat me, Clarke!" he hollered confidently. With his body continuously pumping adrenaline, he felt as if his feet were merely feathers: light and airy. He felt as if he were _flying_.

Nana snorted at his smugness. She might have been lagging behind the boy, but the challenge was far from over, and she certainly had lots of tricks up her sleeve. She just needed the right timing. And the _right_ object.

For now, she had to settle with speeding up. She began to use the breathing techniques her coach had taught her, in hopes to alleviate her physiological state. Fortunately, it worked; bit by bit, she was catching up to him.

That was when she spotted a car, parked right outside. Her eyes widened. There was her chance!

She readied herself and began to count in her head. _One . . ._

Just a few more meters.

 _Two_ . . .

She was getting closer and closer.

 _Three!_

Right that moment, she jumped, raised her hands, and did the most reckless thing she had ever done: She somersaulted over the car.

The next thing she knew she was soaring and flipping high up in the air, until her feet eventually found the ground. As soon as she regained her footing, she wasted no time and set off into a sprint. Behind her, she could hear Plisetsky's shocked cry of "What the hell?!"

Now it was Nana's turn to gloat. Craning her head to look at him, she shouted to him, "Gymnastics, Plisetsky! Try and beat that!"

The stakes were high now. Both were desperate—Yuri even more so—to reach the finish line and acquire the chance to eat their favorite food, for free. Right after the little stunt the Brit had pulled, she was in a much better state than the Russian.

Or so she thought.

That was when she heard a loud _thump_ right beside her. She peered to her left.

Only for her eyes to fall on his smug face. Great disbelief crossed her features in an instant.

"Parkour, Clarke. Heard of that?" He snickered at her, in retort to her earlier remark.

She flashed her gritting teeth. "Bloody hell, I have!"

Their intense exchange was more than enough to make the tension rise and reach peak levels in the drop of a hat.

They were evenly matched now; each time one of them gained a bit of the higher ground the other would quickly compensate and catch up. At the rate they were going right now . . . there would be no clear victor.

Even after reaching the curb surrounding the park, they went on until they reached the evergreen tree itself. In a funny twist of fate, they both reached out and ended up touching the trunk . . . _at the same time_.

Having reached the designated finish line, Nana collapsed to her knees, expelling an exhausted sigh in the process. Her chest was rising and falling in a terrifyingly frantic pace.

Yuri was no better. His legs were throbbing with fatigue, his chest felt like it was about to explode from all the effort it had exerted. With the effects of the adrenaline beginning to wear out, he was about to experience the harrowing aftereffects. He cursed under his breath.

In spite of their unpleasant states, Nana still had the heart to laugh.

It first came out as a relieved giggle, until it grew in volume and intensity and became full-blown laughter. Was she going insane? Yes. Insane with glee. It was the kind of insane one would experience right after doing something inherently dangerous and stupid.

And frankly, she found it quite exhilarating.

Surprisingly, Yuri joined in, too, with his youthful, mirth-filled guffaw. Together, they laughed at their ridiculous predicament, as if drunk and high.

 **CHAPTER OMAKE:**

An eager pair of teeth happily bit into a freshly-baked strawberry and cream scone.

"That challenge was worth it, don't you think so?" its owner spoke, shamelessly downing a cup of tea in an unsophisticated manner.

The response to her question was a full-mouth grunt.

Nana chuckled at how silly Yuri looked. The latter was sitting in front of her, feasting on a plateful of _pirozhki_.

Swallowing the chewed food, Yuri cleared his throat, slipping out a single remark. "We both got what we wanted."

"Even though we both cheated, and it wasn't fair and square?" she added cheekily, shooting him a meaningful look. The blond boy snorted at her reference.

"Yeah, yeah. Shut it, Flippy."

"No, you shut up, Mister Parkour Ninja."

Who knew a silly friendly challenge could jump-start a friendship?


End file.
